


Divination By TARDIS

by black__beak



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I just want them to be soft, Life in the TARDIS, One Shot, just soft, not much to ask for really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black__beak/pseuds/black__beak
Summary: The TARDIS can't, and won't, undelete your bedroom by force.But what's to say an errant tea whisk wouldn't work? Just this one time?
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Divination By TARDIS

**Author's Note:**

> I pretty much wrote this just to send myself to sleep happy. Enjoy!

The TARDIS has deleted her bedroom. Again.

Clara frowns.

At least, she thinks it has.

In her defense it is very difficult to tell.

There have been multiple attempts, and multiple, countless failures, of Clara attempting to learn the art of TARDIS telepathy. 

And so far, lessons in "learning" the "art" of communicating with the TARDIS have resulted in little more than stiff legs and a backlog of yawns.

See, her antagonistic, almost-relationship with the TARDIS - saved by the *actual* relationship she shares with the Doctor - has undergone a number of self-driven developments, the most recent of which being Divination By TARDIS.

This _artform_ encompasses a wide variety of tools. Oh yes, it does. Most of them being hand-crafted, lovingly.

("They've not been _hand-crafted_ , Clara. Look, that's my tea whisk - I'm pretty sure you just raided the tea room for utensils and called it a day, you didn't even bother with duct tape on those ones, and _this one_ , what is that? String and happy thoughts"?)

It's a sense of confidence, she feels. In the soul. No amount of lessons spent sat, cross-legged and fingers carefully touched to the Doctor's temple will teach Clara where her bedroom is, she thinks.

No. That's something you just have to _feel._ In your _soul._ Lovingly. With force.

The tea whisk is brandished, then, in one hand.

"She's not going to tell you where the bedroom is if you smack her, Clara."

"Shut up, please."

"I won't tell you if you smack me, either."

"Won't stop me from trying," she calls out.

(Lovingly. He'll make up for it later, she thinks.)

Clara Oswin Oswald brandishes a tea whisk with trepidation, and, in beginning to tap along the corridors leading off from the console room, also begins the process of learning _where_ her bedroom has gone.

Namely that it's still, for the most part, there. Give or take a thing or two. (Her things get vetted, and jetted, very often.)

Despite her _bedroom_ still being there, the entrance itself? Oh, the TARDIS had that relocated.

By about five miles in the other direction.

Which is a fact she will learn, roughly three miles later.

By which time, of course, she'll be two minutes away from falling asleep standing up.

And one minute away from being just _delirious_ enough to giddily wonder if the Doctor would catch her if she fell. Of course he wouldn't.

Knowing him, he probably tried to invent a setting on the sonic screwdriver for wood, and made one for bodily-levitation-of-very-tired-assistants-off-of-TARDIS-floors instead.

On the eighth trip around the console room, still tapping the floor with a tea whisk, the Doctor's already put his feet up _on_ the console, and on the ninth, he's set up both a camping bed, and a very pointed look, next to his chair (and underneath all those eyebrows).

Clara collects (steals) at least five neglected pillows from the Doctor's room on the tenth trip round, and by the eleventh, she's abandoned (replaced) the tea whisk to the depths of the TARDIS's corridors.

By the twelfth, she's conceded defeat, and the Doctor's trying very hard not to wake her with a bag of crisps from his position propped up near the console. He's also trying his best not to get any in her hair.

And he's managing to achieve this rather well.

Funny, how humans don't even wake up, when you gently brush a hand over their head while they sleep.


End file.
